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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25499131">Love With Every Stranger</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/DisplacedKey/pseuds/DisplacedKey'>DisplacedKey</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Diarmute AU Week 2020 [6]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Pilgrimage (2017)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Borrowers Fusion, Crossover, Hurt/Comfort, M/M</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-07-25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-07-25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 04:13:38</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,338</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25499131</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/DisplacedKey/pseuds/DisplacedKey</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Diarmuid's first Borrowing doesn't go quite as planned.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Brother Diarmuid/The Mute</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Diarmute AU Week 2020 [6]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1838056</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>18</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Love With Every Stranger</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Title from Hozier's "Someone New".</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Diarmuid grew up being told that he was too curious for his own good, but he couldn’t help it. The world was such a fascinating place that exploring seemed like the only logical thing to do. In between prayers and chores, he often snuck outside the monastery to explore. Summer was his favorite season, when all the green things came alive and the wildflowers were in bloom. He collected them and stored them in his room, so that the walls were obscured with green stems and petals of every color. The abbot tolerated it only because he knew Diarmuid would just go collect more after getting rid of the first ones.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ciaran clucked his tongue and said, “Diarmuid, you know going outside is dangerous. You’re not supposed to be doing it at all.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I know, but it’s so beautiful outside,” Diarmuid said. “Besides, I’m careful.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ciaran sighed. “There are all sorts of creatures who would be all too happy to devour you, if given the chance.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I know, I know, but look,” Diarmuid said. He reached under his bed and pulled out a small stack of leaves. “It’s feverfew. You use this for arthritis, right?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ciaran took the stack with a smile. “Yes, Diarmuid. Thank you. Now, if I’m not mistaken, tonight is your first Borrowing, isn’t it?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Diarmuid grinned. “Yes, it is! I can’t wait! I’m going with Rua, right?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Of course. Remember to be especially careful, alright?” Ciaran reached forward to squeeze Diarmuid’s shoulder. “I don’t want you getting hurt.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’ll be fine, Ciaran,” Diarmuid said. “I’m almost twenty, it’s high time I went Borrowing. You guys just coddle me.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s not the worst thing we could do,” Ciaran said. “Now, come help me store this before Compline.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The monastery was in the crawl space beneath the house. Bricks, presumably leftovers from when the house was built, were stacked up against one of the shorter walls to create the cells where the monks slept, the dining hall, the kitchen, the bathrooms, the herbarium, and the storerooms. The chapel was its own building two feet away. From the outside, both structures just looked like piles of bricks. Diarmuid marveled at the ingenuity of the monastery’s founders, to be able to design something that looked unremarkable from the outside and make its interior livable. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>After Compline, Diarmuid ran back to his cell to get ready. Borrowing was the only time the monks were allowed out of their habits; the heavy, floor-length robes weren’t optimal for all of the climbing, and possibly running, that they would have to do. Diarmuid changed into a shirt and a pair of pants made from a scrap of a black bandana he’d found stuck to a nail on the porch. He pulled on his boots (normally he didn’t bother with shoes) and grabbed his woven grass bag. He put in his grappling hook (a fish hook tied to the end of a thread) into the basket, slung it over his shoulder, and went to meet Rua at the entrance. “I’m ready!” he said, smiling.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Rua didn’t smile back, but he never did. Diarmuid thought years of being on guard while stealthily making his way around the human’s house had made him permanently serious. Of course most of the monks were, but Rua had a hardened edge to him that set him apart. He wore a grey shirt and black pants, and a belt with a loop that held a sharp silver sewing needle. “Remember, this is serious,” he said. “No getting distracted. You have to be quiet and wary. The last thing we want to do is attract the attention of the human.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Diarmuid nodded. Rua led the way as they climbed the exterior of the monastery. At the top, they were able to reach the place where the brick wall met the wood. Rua pointed to a line of nails half-driven into the wood that would serve as a ladder. “Once we’re inside the house, you’ll need to be quiet,” Rua reminded him. Diarmuid nodded again. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The nails led them inside the walls. Rua led them up and up and up until Diarmuid was convinced that they were headed to the roof. Once they finally reached a stopping point in the form of a ledge, he realized they’d only gone about four feet off the ground. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Rua shoved aside a section of wood to reveal a narrow gap just big enough for them to squeeze through. Once he did, Diarmuid found himself in a dark, enclosed space that smelled heavily of spices. Plastic tubes almost as tall as he was were lined up neatly. “Where are we?” he whispered.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“This is the kitchen,” Rua said. “We’ll be grabbing a cinnamon stick and a clove of garlic.” He lit one of the candles and held it aloft, the soft orange glow revealing wooden walls and tubes of spices. “This is the spice cabinet,” he explained. “The garlic is on the second shelf, so I’ll climb up and get that.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>First, he helped Diarmuid find and open the jar that held the cinnamon sticks. The smell was wonderful, and only became more fragrant once Diarmuid broke the stick up into multiple sections to fit it into his bag. Rua slid back down the rope of his grappling hook with his bag bulging slightly and the smell of garlic wafting off him. He pushed the cabinet door open just enough for them to slip a rope through and slide down onto the counter. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Now we have to go to the bedroom,” Rua said. “We need tissues.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Diarmuid marveled at the house’s scale during the long walk to the bedroom. He knew he was small compared to the humans, but inside a human house the difference was overwhelming. The bedroom door was a perfect example; it was thicker across than they were and the doorknob was high above their heads. They could only get in because the door was cracked open.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The dim shapes of huge furniture loomed in the darkness like mountains. On the bed, one of the mountains moved, the steady up-and-down motion of breathing. Diarmuid swallowed and crept behind Rua. He’d caught brief glances of the human before, so he had a basic picture of what he looked like—broad-shouldered and muscular, with dark curly hair and a beard. He was a woodworker and lived alone, save for a cat. He never had visitors and he never seemed to speak. Diarmuid wondered if he was ever lonely. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They crossed the floor and climbed onto the bedside table with their grappling hooks. Diarmuid didn’t need an extra warning to be quiet. The human was asleep on his side, facing away from them, but one wrong move could change that. If they were discovered it would be a disaster. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Diarmuid climbed onto the tissue box and grabbed the edge of the tissue. At the same time, Rua gasped, “Diarmuid, wait—”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There was a yowl and then something raked across Diarmuid’s back, the force of the blow knocking him off the table. The jarring impact with the ground knocked the breath from his chest and everything thought from his head. Right before he lost consciousness, the light clicked on.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Every part of Diarmuid hurt. Pain branched out from the back of his skull; his back stung and prickled; his arms and legs ached. When he tried to move, his whole body protested. A whimper escaped his lips. He opened his eyes.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The light was dim. Diarmuid was lying on his side on something soft, maybe a towel? The same material was lying over him, too. In front of him was a smooth, papery surface: cardboard. Diarmuid managed to crane his head around enough to see that he was in a rectangular box with an oval-shaped hole on either end. A shoebox. A shoebox with the lid on. Diarmuid dredged up his most recent memories and shuddered at the recollection of the light turning on.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He’d been captured by a human. The man’s cat must’ve been in the room, and it attacked Diarmuid when it spotted him. Looking around, Diarmuid couldn’t see Rua, so he assumed the fellow monk had escaped capture and gone back to the monastery. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Thank God</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Diarmuid thought. </span>
  <em>
    <span>But where does that leave me?</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Diarmuid touched his chest and felt cloth, but it wasn’t his shirt; that was gone. A bandage? If the stinging was any indication, the cat had scratched him pretty badly. So the human had patched him up. Diarmuid wasn’t sure how to feel about that. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Regardless, he had to find a way to get home. His brothers had to be worried sick, and the longer Diarmuid stayed here, the more danger he was in. He tried to sit up and a cry of pain tore from his lips—</span>
  <em>
    <span>God</span>
  </em>
  <span>, everything still hurt so badly. In the dim light, he could see the bruises marring his arms and legs. He was willing to bet his back was just as bad, but he wasn’t even going to try and twist around to look. The fall had caused as much damage as the cat’s claws. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There was a scraping sound. The shoebox was flooded with light as the top was lifted off. A big, bearded face stared down at Diarmuid. He choked and dove back under the rag he’d been using as a blanket, his ribs complaining with every movement. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The man cleared his throat and said, in a voice gravelly with disuse, “It’s alright. You don’t need to be afraid of me.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Diarmuid trembled under the makeshift blanket. There was a tiny </span>
  <em>
    <span>thump</span>
  </em>
  <span> as the man set something in the shoebox. “I’ll be back,” he said. “Eat up. I swear there’s nothing wrong with the food. And, uh—the lid’s just to keep out my cat, okay? Sorry.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He put the lid back on. Diarmuid waited for his footsteps to carry him out of the room before pushing away the blanket. Beside the bed was a little wooden table. It was simple, no more than a square of wood with four round pegs as table legs, but it was undeniably a table. On it was a scrap of bread, two halves of a grape, a cube of cheese cut into slices, and a toothpaste cap filled with water. Diarmuid’s stomach growled. He grabbed the food and wolfed it down, though he couldn’t finish most of the cheese and the second half of the grape. The water was cool and refreshing.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He felt a little bit better after eating, a bit more clear-headed. A quick look around the shoebox revealed his things were sitting in the corner. He could grab them, use the table to reach one of the holes, and climb out. From there he would be able to escape, to get back to the monastery and his brothers. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Too bad he couldn’t stand without crumpling to his knees. He wouldn’t even be able to climb out of the hole, much less make the trek back to the kitchen and up to the cabinet. He’d have to wait until he was healed up or hope that his brothers would try to rescue him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Diarmuid sniffed as his eyes welled with tears. More than anything, he wanted Ciaran. The man had raised Diarmuid after Diarmuid’s mother died in childbirth. Ciaran was the one who’d kissed Diarmuid’s scraped knees and told him stories to get him to sleep at night. He was Diarmuid’s father in all but name, and Diarmuid missed him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The lid scraped off again and Diarmuid flinched as the light streamed in. Tears poured down his cheeks and the human frowned. “It’s okay,” he said. “I’m not going to hurt you, I promise. I need to change your bandage, though.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He set his hand down in the box, palm up. Diarmuid pushed himself back onto the towel and scrubbed at his face. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I won’t hurt you,” the human said again and again. “Please, you’re hurt. Let me help.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Diarmuid’s back throbbed. He weighed his options. He crawled onto the human’s hand.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The human lifted him up and out of the box. He carried Diarmuid to the kitchen and set him down on another folded-up towel beside the sink. There were Q-tips, a tube of Neosporin, and a roll of bandages beside the towel. The human pulled out his pocket knife and gently cut through the bandage with the scissor attachment.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m David,” the human said as he dropped the bloodied bandage onto the counter and picked up a Q-tip. “What’s your name?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Diarmuid bit his lip and crossed his arms. He didn’t know what to do. His brothers had always warned him not to cross paths with a human. They never said what to do if he did. Should he stay silent? Or would the human, David, stop being nice to him if Diarmuid didn’t play along? </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>David soaked the Q-tip under the faucet and used it to dab at Diarmuid’s back. “It’s okay,” he rumbled, his hoarse voice surprisingly gentle. “You don’t have to talk.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Diarmuid winced as the Q-tip brushed against his scratches. David worked in silence for a few minutes, applying Neosporin to Diarmuid’s back and then wrapping it back up. Nothing about this made sense. Diarmuid had been told all his life that humans were dangerous. Run-ins with them </span>
  <em>
    <span>always</span>
  </em>
  <span> ended in disaster. If someone had asked Diarmuid what he thought would happen after being caught by a human, he would’ve said sold off or killed. But David was helping him. David had given him food and bandaged his wounds and said again and again that he wasn’t going to hurt him. If Diarmuid couldn’t trust that, what could he trust?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Only once David scooped Diarmuid back up did he murmur, “Diarmuid.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>David went still. “What?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Diarmuid swallowed and raised his voice. “My name is Diarmuid.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>David stared at him for a moment and then his eyes crinkled up in a smile. “It’s nice to meet you, Diarmuid.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Diarmuid gave him a wobbly smile in return.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Studio Ghibli's "Arrietty" is a really good movie and everyone should watch it!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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